


snips and snails and puppy-dogs' tails

by Siria



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-22
Updated: 2009-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's six thirty in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	snips and snails and puppy-dogs' tails

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sheafrotherdon for betaing. Written for cliche_bingo to the prompt 'Food, cooking and mealtimes.'

It's six thirty in the morning. There are wire racks of brownies cooling on the kitchen table, several more cooling on the counter tops, and when Sarah opens the rarely-used oven, it's to see another two pans of brownies cooking inside. Cameron has a mixing bowl in her hand and there's a dark smear of chocolate on her left cheek. Its messiness is at odds with the even, rhythmical way Cameron is stirring the newest batch of batter.

"Brownies?" Sarah asks when Cameron shows no sign of acknowledging her presence.

"Yes," Cameron replies, pouring the batter into another pan. When Sarah doesn't move from where she's leaning against the kitchen table, Cameron looks up at her, and Sarah can see it takes her a second or two to work out that her answer is inadequate. "Lindsay from the grocery store said that comfort food is important to humans when they wish to restore a feeling of security in a high-stress situation. Brownies are comfort food. I needed a lot of ingredients."

Sarah arches an eyebrow at her. "Lindsay from the grocery store said all that, did she?"

"Yes," Cameron says, placing the dirty utensils in the sink and adding dish soap before she turns on the faucet. She doesn't put on rubber gloves before plunging her hands into the hot water. Maybe it doesn't hurt her to do that; Sarah finds she doesn't care enough to ask. "She's majoring in psychology."

"Really." Sarah cocks her head to one side. "Lindsay from the grocery store asks a lot of questions, huh."

Cameron stacks the now-gleaming mixing bowls to dry on the dish rack. "If I thought she was a threat, I would have killed her. She just looked at my breasts a lot."

There's not much Sarah can say to that. "So all these brownies are..." She gestures at the table beside her. There are so many brownies—some topped with frosting or chocolate chips, others studded with nuts or raspberries—that even John's bottomless teenage stomach combined with Derek's enormous appetite will take a few days to get rid of them.

"You've been through a lot of trauma lately," Cameron says, her tone as even as ever, and Sarah tries not to think of holding her own hands under hot water and scrubbing until she gets blood and engine oil out from under her fingernails. "You should eat some."

Sarah folds her arms. "Anything that John or Derek hasn't finished by tomorrow, we'll take down to the local shelter, okay? There's too much here. It'll go to waste."

Cameron's head moves from side to side slightly in a gesture Sarah's never been able to parse—she's not shaking her head, but maybe she's trying to broaden her field of vision. "It would be better if you didn't give away resources. You should all be increasing your calorific and nutritional intake now."

Sarah stares at her.

"Derek can tell you how quickly malnutrition sets in," Cameron continues, and Sarah realises she thinks she's being _helpful_.

"No one is going to ask Derek that," Sarah says. "Am I clear?"

"No one's going to ask Derek what?" Derek says as he lets himself in through the back door. He must have been out jogging; there are dark rings of sweat under the arms of his green t-shirt and down his back. When he tugs the t-shirt up to mop his face, Sarah can see the faint scars on his still-thin back and the gun he wears at his hip. "Oh hey, brownies!" he says when he catches sight of the table, and his first mouthful is so big that Sarah can't understand what he says next. He picks up a couple more brownies in each hand while he's eating, as if he's afraid all of them will vanish if he doesn't stake his claim now.

Cameron looks blankly at Sarah. If she were the teenager her body fools you into thinking she is, Cameron would be saying _I told you so_ right about now. Sarah grits her teeth and goes to make herself a pot of coffee. It helps with the headaches.


End file.
